The Cantinians Hit SciFi
by Charles Lamont
Summary: The Cantina, a wonderful place sitting on a rift in space/time. When the regulars of this Cantina become bored with only writing, they debark on a quest for fun, not caring what Sci-Fi they mess up on the way.
1. Chapter 1

Well...the characters on this page, I don't really own them, as that would be slavery, except for Data, since that's me...everybody else, well, they own themselves...

BUT from here on out, anycharacter that is not one of these, I don't own them...

have fun, and please, review...

* * *

**Chapter One**

Jack Lamont – better known as Data – sat back in his chair, sipping on the sharp blue ale. He watched the cantina around him, his cantina. Placing his feet on the table next to his wickedly sharp Katana, he reclined, and closed his eyes. He heard a small poof, and knew his red haired compatriot had arrived.

"Data! Why did you call us?" Zifnab spun the chair on the other side of the table and sat in it, his eyes intent on the relaxing being. "Where is everybody else anyway?"

Sitting back up, Jack smiled; smoothing his already straightly slicked and tied back long brown hair, he gazed at his friend, wearing a Beatles T-shirt, his shaggy hair almost covering his eyes. "I wouldn't have needed to call you. You come everyday. I'm still waiting for the other Cantinians."

"Right." He moved to another table, pulled out a Quill, and started writing on some parchment.

Data sighed and relaxed again, he hated waiting. After nine hundred years, one would think he would be used to it. A thud came from outside, and Data could see a large black Dragon, dancing around, then taking off. A young man walked in, brown hair, shaggy like Zif's, but wearing glasses and a Queen shirt. "Ah, Canadian, I see you have arrived."

The Canadian – Lord Saxtus – what he was lord of, nobody knew, went to the counter and ordered a Pepsi, always a Pepsi. "Data, I have that sword almost finished for you."

"Thanks Sax." Data went back to sipping his ale, a slight shudder as it plummeted to his stomach. He went back to listening to the bustle and conversation in the cantina. How many world domination plans had he foiled by just doing that?

Zif waved at the teen and cried out "Lady Saxily!" and laughed at the Canadian's grimace.

Two out of, how many Cantinian's now? Rose never came around anymore, that pained him, he had only summoned the true Cantinain's not the interlopers that had been coming in lately.

Black smoke rose from the floor, nobody noticing, or even giving it a second thought as it took on a human shape, and wings unfurled from the smoke, vanishing, leaving a muscle bound man, but intelligence in his eyes. Dog tags hung around his neck, his hair was not long like the others, but short, black and curly. The dark skinned man sat down at the table and started sketching on his ever present sketchbook. "Yo, Free, what's up?"

"Nothing really Data." He went back to writing, quite as usual. Nothing compared to the next person to enter the room. He entered, a grey pinstripe suit, and a Thompson sub-machine gun in his hand. The said gun was firing out the front door, apparently shooting at some group to whom he owed money. Finally, he leapt out of the door way, and rolled behind the counter. The sound of an old car roared out in the night, or at least it was from wherever he came in from. What would be the point of having a cantina if it wasn't built on the larges rift in space and time in the universe, reaching into other galaxies. "Krates."

Kratos Dante sat down, placing his weapon on the table next to the katana. "Data, I need more advice."

"You come to me again?"

Kratos nodded, "You always give me good advice." He stood back up and went to the counter, sitting next to Free. Those two always seemed to get along the best.

From behind the counter stood a swinging door, which was thrown open and a tall man, his hair longer than Zif and Sax's but no where close to Data's, was thrown out, fending off toasters foaming at the bread slots, whipping their electrical cables at him. The man cursed in Dutch and kicked one back into the kitchen. A roar inside told Data the Dutchman's pet oven had eaten the scourge of the kitchen, the Rabid Toaster. He slammed the door shut and pulled out his reason for venturing into the dangerous kitchen, a humble Pie.

Zif looked up at him. "JW, why don't you use the oven behind the counter? It would be much easier for a pie."

JW grumbled something about pie-phemy and sat down in a dusty armed chair. A strange aura glowed around it, as the tall man ate his pie. Teh _sacred_ chair.

Soon a lovely blond entered, Zif growing very red and trying not to seem to be staring at her. "Hello Virv." Data knew whom it was by only looking at Zif.

"Hi hon." She sat down at the table with Data. Virvel, the Finish Princess as they all called her. The flame of Zif's heart, and a close friend of Data. The only female to grace them since Rose left. He gave her a hug and a wink. She nodded, and with a small smile, stood and went over to sit with Zif, who managed to regain his composure.

From the second floor came a bespectacled American, and his friend, about the same age, same for almost all of them for that matter, who looked VERY tan. Irish and Kip respectively, arguing about some 'Blossom.' The American sat on one end of the table and the Portuguese sat on the other end. Their argument ended with Kip making some overly sarcastic comment.

Finally, from the rafters, a shape dropped down and formed into a teen, a bit younger than Sax. "The myth, the legend, the Man. Lep." Data muttered as the vampiric human sat down and drained a glass of blood.

Data finally stood up, all were here. He placed his katana back under his black trench coat, and walked out into the middle of the cantina.

"Alright, this is actually one of the few times we are here at the same time." He began.

"Yeah, I noticed." Kip commented.

"Anywho." Data sighed. "Who's bored? Yeah, we write, but do we actually ever do ANYTHING?"

"I make pies!" JW called out.

"I think we all could use a change of pace." Virvel said calmly, her hand resting on Zif's arm.

"Indeed." Data smiled. "And I have the perfect plan." He walked over and grabbed a wall, pushing it out and over, revealing a large stone ring.

Zif's face lit up at the sight of the Stargate. What's you're plan?"

"Well, we sit on the largest rift in the universe, what's better than having a bit of fun?" He looked at the DHD and dialed, the inner ring spinning, and the large energy wave being emitted. "Who wants to go?"

In a wave, all the Cantinians ran through the gate, leaving a smiling Data to enter last. The gate shut down, the cantina quiet except for a single figure sneaking in though the window, a mime entered the light and started taking pictures.

Next thing, a small explosion was emitted right next to the door, leaving a hole large enough for a man to enter. Hobo Joe crawled through, his clothes ragged. He looked around and saw the mime. "Hmmmmm." Drawing a blaster from under his arm, he shot the mime, watched it crumple. Sitting down, he rested, and tried to decide who would win in a fight – Batman or Spider Man. The rest of the cantina was silent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Spartan 117, aka Master Chief emerged from his crash pod, and found the strangest sight in front of him. Men in white armor where fighting droids. Cocking his head, he looked around and soon found the apparent leader, a man in robes with a sword of blue light.

The man, with shaggy hair and a brown beard looked at him. "You must be one of the new clones. We need some help. The Separatists are stronger here than I thought."

Looking back at his pod, all his guns had fallen down into the abyss. "I need a weapon."

Running forward, he found a droid, punched it in the face, and took the rifle it was carrying. Firing the weapon, he found that he enjoyed the rate of fire, and how it did not over heat. But he didn't like the color. Running by a white armored soldier, he socked it in the face, like he would with one of the marines, and took the awesome, blue bolt blaster. "Alliteration - For The Win." He thought as he went back to shooting.

He glanced over a few seconds into the melee and saw a man in a black coat, long hair flying, wielding two curved metal blades that cut through every droid. He seemed to stop for a second, then smiled, and turned, ramming into the soldiers that he was fight alongside moments before. Curious, the Chief looked over to where the bearded man was and saw the clones firing on him.

Suddenly, both men using sword, whether metal or light vanished, leaving him in a space with all the clones and droids. He smiled inside his helmet…a challenge. Taking his two weapons, he started dual wielding, hoping the battle would never end.

--

Virvel looked down into the observation room, filled with various people. Zif stood next to her, shaking his head and mouthing _Why?_ Virvel smiled and walked down the stairs and entered the room, finally seeing who all was in there.

Captain James T. Kirk stood there, and ripped off his shirt, killed some redshirt cannon fodder in the next room with the awesomeness of his flab. "Please, show me – to…you leader." And he gave her a boyish smile.

Commander William T. Riker stroked his beard, "Call me Will. Care for a game of poker, some wine? How about dinner?"

Doctor Julian Bashier grinned. "Hello. I'm a genetically modified human. Care for a historical reenactment of many battles in earth's history?"

Lieutenant Tom Paris looked at her, "I have my own ship. Good at racing. Want to give it a try?"

Finally Commander Trip Tucker waked up and used his smooth southern accent. "Well hello. I'm new to this sector. Can you give me a look around? Perhaps we can have an exchange of technology."

Shaking her head at all of them, Virv looked around and saw another group.

"Is she fast? Made the Kessel run in twenty parsecs!" Han Solo was bragging to Corran Horn, Jacen Solo, Obi-Wan Kenobi and various others.

Clearing her throat Virvel spoke up, "You do realize that a parsec is a measure of distance, not time."

"Er….um…" with that he lost his audience.

Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turned around and saw a tall man with shay hair, and a boyish grin, the look of age only around his wizened eyes. "Hi. I'm Captain Jack Harkness. Want to go somewhere else?"

"No thank you." Virvel turned back and saw Jack O'Neill and Daniel Jackson. Arguing as usual. _Now I know what Data is talking about. They do bicker like an old couple._

Finally, she saw him again after breaking Han's ego. Grabbing the young version of Obi-Wan Kenobi, she ran out with him….Zif running dejectedly behind.

Tilting his head about how she would pass up him, Jack Harkness looked around at the rest of the group. "Hello. I'm Captain Jack Harkness, former Time Agent. Who want to go somewhere."

**--**

Sergeant Major Avery Johnson turned rapidly as a tall building was thrown into his view, struggling to control the pelican through the rain and oncoming traffic. ON COMING TRAFFIC! Johnson knew this when he caused a few fist shakes from many different aliens, many he had not seen before, but humans were among them. He paused for second, taking a second for breathing. He looked up when he heard a thud against the windshield. A bald black man lay across the shield, sparks of electricity jumping between his fingers and sizzling his brown robes, one had was missing, a burnt stub where it should have been.

"What the hell are you doing on my shield?" Johnson cried at the interloper.

"I need….I need…" the man struggled for breath. Johnson cursed and opened an emergency hatch on the shield, pulling the man inside. The fierce eyes of a warrior stared back at him. "Take me to the temple. We must stop Anakin."

_Anakin? What kind of stupid name is Anakin?_ Johnson looked at the man, who was concentrating one something. "You alright son?"

"I am healing myself right now. You may talk if you wish."

"What's your name?"

"Windu, Master Mace Windu. My 'death' will give me a distinct advantage. Take me to the temple. Now if possible."

"Hold on to your butt then, I'll push this baby to the edge of the flight envelope."

Sitting back down, Johnson pushed the throttle forward, reaching a speed that was causing the frame to shake. He headed towards a large pyramid shaped building. He felt the pelican losing altitude. "We might not make it."

"I'm ready." Mace had stood back up. "Take some weapons, you may need them." The Sergeant grabbed a battle rifle, and holstered a magnum. "Good, now hold on, we're going to jump."

"Wha?" Next thing he knew, Mace was holding onto the soldier, and standing at the open hatch. "Oh sh-…" Mace leaped, and seeming to bound on air, his good hand holding Johnson's jacket. The trip was short, and they were standing on a balcony, a fire fight outside. People in robes like Mace's were jumping around white armor beings, holding swords of different colors. Red blue and green bolts were being deflected by the jumpers, sometimes hitting them, sometimes being returned to sender. Mace reached out, and a saber was flung into his hand. He leapt out, crying, "I'm tired of the mother fracking Clones in this mother fracking temple!" He tore through them, leaving Johnson standing there, awed. Shaking himself off, he ran into the fray, firing the rifle, and removing the armored beings, plastic not providing much protection. Every bolt that his the Sargent was absorbed. Though he feared his immortality against, even the chief, may soon run out. Soon they were the only two standing in the room, all else having fled or died.

"Come on! We must find the others!" Mace ran off, then waited for Johnson. "Maybe we can stop Palpatine's reign before it begins!"

"Yeah, sure. As long as we get to do some more ass-kicking."

They turned the corner, and found a mess of clones, who looked around then donned white hoods.

Suddenly, they were thrown into the sky by some power, and smashed into the ceiling. A dark skinned man with a buzz cut and dog tags came down on smoky wings. "Now that…was messed up."

He nodded at the Sergeant. "Good to work with you again."

"Wah? I have never seen you before soldier."

"That's because I'm always under the helmet." He pulled out a BFG and fired upon more clones, still wearing hoods. "And remind me, why did they use Jango again?"

Reloading his weapon, Johnson smiled, "Now let's back to fighting boys."

--

Else where, the new Dark Lord Vader stormed through the halls. He would learn how to save his wife. Even if he had to kill everybody else in the universe. He knew where the younglings were hiding, and he was to take out all of the Jedi. Entering the room, he found them standing there, looking to him as if he would save them. Pitiful. Igniting his blade he stared forward, the children moving back, then suddenly they smiled.

Anakin looked on wide eyed as they flooded over him, knocking his saber away, and beating him up. They pulled his hair and kicked him, tiny force pushes threw him around, each one like hitting a wall. He tried to scream, but tiny fists had punched him, leaving him breathless.

Palpatine looked on the fray from his office, watching his new Apprentice being beaten by children. "I should have kept the old guy." He shook his head. "He could fight, AND he wasn't an emo pansy."

--

Hobo Joe looked around the cantina, he had raided the freezer, and drank all the Romulan Ale, knowing his cousin would be ticked afterwards. He looked around, and smiled. He hadn't moved the mimes body yet.

Taking some robe from the counter, he flung it over a rafter and grabbed the other end, pulling it down and tying the body to it. He pulled, raising it to the rafters to hang with the bodies of others, a plumber, a dead Frenchman – his hand still on his sword, and a delivery boy. Smiling at a job well done, he sat in Teh _Sacred_ Chair, and waited. Perhaps something interesting would happen.

Immediately, he was thrown violently from the chair, and he remembered; only JW could sit in the chair.

Grumbling, Joe stalked around the building. He was bored. Shrugging, he sat next to the window and looked out. Mimes were building and armada. Shaking his head he knew it was bound to happen, the cantinians leave, the mimes try to take over. Glancing around, he pulled an ever present Thermal Detonator from his bandolier and broke open the window, throwing the grenade and watching as a wave of heat incinerated the tiny armada. Mimes were fools, but if they knew somebody was left, they might not attack. If any did enter, he would kick them in the shins. Hobo Joe walked over and sat at the fire. Kicking a mime in the shins. He leaned back and began to remember his first mime to fight…


End file.
